Gin & Gemini
by foxcub
Summary: The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind."


Title: Gin & Gemini

Rating: R (language and other naughty bits)

Pairing: Sawyer/Kate

Disclaimer: ABC, JJ, Damon, they're yours, all yours. Never mine!

Spoilers: "Confidence Man" and hints of "White Rabbit"

Summary: "The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind."

Notes: This story takes place just a few days following the events of "CM". It's also in response to the "Truth or Dare" challenge posted at ficinbottle. sigh I know I fudged on the rules a bit, but sometimes these things have a mind of their own ;-)

* * *

It was like he'd found a lost twenty in his back pocket. 

For the longest time, he just stood there, mouth hanging open, staring into a small black rolling suitcase. It wasn't even like they were hidden; they were sittin' pretty, in a large plastic Ziploc freezer bag, right on top of a neatly folded pile of Hanes.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, he _knew _he'd find some somewhere.

And they were all his. Every last fuckin' one of 'em.

Sawyer huffed out a breath, sitting back on his heels in the sand and smiling like a damn idiot. He carefully zipped the suitcase shut, not even bothering to see if someone was watching.

He was gonna sleep good tonight. He guaran-fuckin-teed it.

* * *

"Thought you'd like to get in on something." 

Kate squinted up at Hurley, who was blocking the light from the fire. "And what's that?"

"Sawyer's got booze." Then he grinned and nodded, like he'd uncovered the secret of who shot Kennedy.

She cocked her head. "What?"

"Swear to God, dude. I saw him haul this suitcase into his tent, and I just wanted to make sure he wasn't, y'know, stashing medicine 'n' stuff again. Next thing I know, he's pulling out this big honkin' bag full of those little bottles you get in hotel mini bars." He shrugged. "I don't drink—trust me, you don't _wanna_ know that story—but I thought, maybe…"

"You thought _I _should know about this?"

He got a little flustered. "Look, after everything that's gone down with Sayid and Jack and the whole torture-in-the-jungle thing, I just thought someone should know. 'Cause, y'know…people need to unwind around here, man. It's getting' friggin' scary."

No shit. She sighed. "Yeah. Thanks, Hurley."

He paused, still blocking the firelight. "Are you gonna tell Jack?"

"Maybe. Does it matter?"

"Dunno." He shrugged again.

"I'll think about it." Or maybe she wouldn't.

* * *

"Hey." 

She was surprised that she actually jumped at his voice. She slowed her pace to let him catch up with her. "Hey. What are you doing out on the beach?"

"I was getting more driftwood for the fire. It's really toasty back there, you should join us."

"We've got a fire here on the beach, Jack. I'll manage." She knew she should probably stop walking, that he'd eventually notice which direction she was headed.

"Yeah, but you've gotta contend with the sea breeze. I'm not asking you to move again, Kate. Just…come hang out for a while, at least. What urgent business do you possibly have out here tonight?"

Man, she was glad it was dark. He couldn't see her eyes dart away.

She finally stopped. "Maybe a little later, okay?"

It wasn't _too _dark. His eyes narrowed.

"What are you up to, Kate?" He took a step closer.

"Nothing." She took a step back.

He took the hint. "Fine. But the invitation still stands."

"Okay." She couldn't seem to stay still.

"Okay." Although she couldn't really see it, he gave her one last look before heading back up the beach.

Kate let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"Okay."

* * *

He'd forgotten what it felt like to be tipsy and on the edge of comfy intoxication. With nothing in his stomach for over twenty-four hours, Jack Daniels & Co. were settlin' in and making themselves at home just fine. And he still had over half a bag to go. 

He was beginning to wish there'd been more alcoholics on the flight.

"So it's true."

Fuck, he must be really wasted. He was starting to imagine her voice now.

But she was there, standing in front of him, her feet kicking sand on the cuffs of his jeans.

Somehow it was now a lot easier to give her a genuine smile. "Freckles! Now how'd you know I was thinkin' 'bout you?"

She looked over his shoulder at the Ziploc bag. "Are you planning on going through the whole thing in one night?"

"Aw, hell, I hadn't thought that far yet." His grin was feeling really loose and a little out of control. He blinked slowly. Damn, why'd she always have to look like that? All curly hair and pale skin and wet lips…

He needed another bottle. That's all there was to it.

He started to sit up and reach for the bag, but she got to it first, seeing as how she didn't have the equivalent of about seven shots of Jack floatin' in her belly.

"I've decided you're going to share." Her tone didn't ask for comment.

"With _everyone?!"_

"No, jackass. With me. You owe me."

He snorted. "For what?"

The look she gave him shut up him up quick. Jesus, drinking made him such a pussy.

She jiggled the bag of bottles in her hands, trying to choose. Of all the ones in there, she ended up picking the one with the faggetty British guy on it. Beefeater.

"So you're a classy gal, huh?"

Twisting the cap off, she threw back the whole thing in two gulps.

Boy, his lap really enjoyed watching that sight.

She replaced the cap and licked her lips. "You wish."

"Do I, now? And how do you know I don't like 'em a little on the trashy side?"

"Because I just know." The empty bottle was left on the sand as she rooted in the bag for another. Those stray curls of hers that were always loose kept falling across her cheek.

He swallowed. Like hell. She didn't know shit.

"Tell ya what, Freckles. How's about you and I play a little game?"

She'd found another thing of gin. "Why?" There wasn't so much as a glance at him as she chugged it.

"'Cause I'm bored." At least he had been before she showed up.

He watched her throat bob as she swallowed. Once…his lips'd been so close…

"You mean like Hearts, or something?"

"I was thinkin' Truth or Dare, actually." He needed another drink. Now.

There was a bottle of Southern Comfort on top of the pile. She saw him eyeing it and took it out of the bag.

"It's you all over," she said with a smirk as she tossed it at him.

"Aww, you tryin' to come on to me now? 'Fraid I don't commiserate with lushes."

She licked her lips again. She'd been doing that quite a bit. "I'm not the one with pink cheeks."

_Dammit._

"You can't even see my cheeks, _Sweet Cheeks_." There, let her sit on that one.

She got to her knees and leaned toward him. He hated the fact that he actually held his breath.

"It's not totally dark yet. All I have to see is that they're darker than usual, and not because you don't shave."

"You try shavin' with salt water and a fucked up blade." Fuckin' hell, that _better _not have been his voice that just went all deep and shit.

She crossed her legs Indian style and dangled her empty bottle between her fingers. He'd already lost count of what number she was on, although he was pretty sure in was number three.

"Okay. So what'll it be?"

"Nu-uh. Hold on a sec." He sat up a little straighter. "This was my idea here. I start."

"Whatever. Truth." She blew an irritatingly cute curl out of her eyes.

He folded his hands behind his head, only wincing slightly as his fingers brushed the bruises there. Maybe he'd drag it out for a while.

"Go _on, _Sawyer."

Her bottom lip was starting to get a little soft and puffy as the gin took over. It was beginning to make his mouth water.

"Do you really wanna be on the beach?" He'd give her an easy one to start with.

"Yes." She paused, then reached back into the bag.

"Now, wait a minute, there, Sweet Cheeks. I wasn't--"

"We didn't set any rules. And stop calling me that." She was struggling to get the cap off a bottle of vanilla Stohli. Jesus, what kind of hotels did these people stay in?

He took the bottle from her and popped the cap. "So you're admitting we don't got any rules to work with here?"

She glared at him as he took a swig before handing it back. "I was just stating a fact. When you ask a yes or no question, you get a yes or no answer."

"Then maybe we shouldn't ask yes or no questions." In two seconds, the bottle was empty. Her cheeks were as pink as his.

"I'm fine with them."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Well all right, then." Without even bothering to look, he stuck his hand in the bag. His fingers closed around something and he pulled it out.

Captain Morgan. Fuck. "Do you really see yourself cozyin' up with Doc Holliday?"

"It's_ your_ turn, Sawyer."

"So what? You said yourself there's no rules."

Her hand came up to flick the hair out of her eyes in a slightly rubbery gesture, like the bones were slowly leaving her arm. She sighed long and loud, sounding put out, but he knew it was a show. "I don't have to answer that. It's not my turn."

He gave her the smirk he knew she hated. "Coward."

"Damn it, just go."

He shrugged. "Truth, then. Have at it."

"You knew where Shannon's inhalers were, didn't you?" She tipped her chin up a little.

As much as he couldn't stand the taste of rum, he downed that puppy fast. Then he did his best impression of her lip-licking, leaning in towards her as he did so, hoping way down deep that it sparked something in her. Only a couple inches kept his nose from touching hers.

"I already answered that question, Freckles. Wouldya like a recap?"

She didn't pull back, but her eyes closed for the briefest moment. Her breath was hot on his chin.

"I did say, 'truth,' didn't I?" Her eyes opened, looking very dark.

"I believe you did. But I don't think you'd really like my other answer."

He might as well have said "dare". Even so, she didn't bite. Little coward; she never knew what she wanted.

"Your turn, Freckles." His heart was really starting to hammer against his ribs. Probably nicotine withdrawl.

"Truth."

It was the fuckin' word of the day. "Why'd you come out here tonight?"

She sighed again, and this time it was for real. "Hurley told me about the alcohol."

He'd never heard her voice like that before: light, breathy…edgeless.

"And what, you haven't made it to your AA meetings lately?"

Her eyes looked like they were tracing his nose, stopping somewhere around his upper lip. "I just..." She suddenly squeezed them shut, shaking her head.

"Just…?"

"Your turn." She fell back onto the sand and rolled on her side to reach for the bag.

"'Kay." He watched her fingers slide over another Stohli bottle and had an intense urge to be Russian vodka. "I want a dare this time."

She actually grinned at him. A loopy, pretty, Kate's-not-really-here-right-now-please-leave-a-message grin.

"Hmm, like a run to the caves naked-type dare?" Her nose crinkled and he just about lost it.

"I'm not really in any position to be runnin' anywhere, Sweet Cheeks." He unconsciously ran a hand over his face. Damn, his skin was hot.

She didn't even blink. "Right." She paused and tapped the bottle against her lips. "Okay. Show me the real you."

He hoped like hell she didn't see his jaw tick. "I'm sittin' right here."

Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him through her lashes. "You know what I mean."

"'Fraid I don't. Care to elaborate?"

"Stop shitting me, Sawyer. You started this."

He forced a slow grin. His throat felt dry. "How would you even know if I was shittin' you or not?""

"Because--"

"Because what, you figured out my secret? My little raggedy-ass skeleton in the closet?" His laugh was a cross between a cough and a groan. "Let me tell you somethin', sweetheart, there's a shitload more where that came from. And I don't think you're ready for that bedtime story."

When had he started panting? He realized vaguely how hard he was breathing, taking in the scent of salt, sand, and alcohol—her breath, not his. At least, he thought so.

He couldn't say the room was starting to tilt because there was no room. Just a damn tent with no real walls and open sky and ocean water out to nowhere and sand out to everywhere and…and…

Her finger touched the bruise on his cheek—the one _she'd_ put there—and he jerked away.

She sighed. It sounded almost sad. "Truth."

He didn't respond right away; his hands slid into his hair and he stared at his bare feet buried in the sand.

Then, "Why do I fascinate you so much? Am I like your fuckin' science project?"

Pause. "Is that my question?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's your goddamned question."

For a long moment, there was silence, or as much silence one could have next to an ocean. He heard a tiny squeaking noise and looked up to find her twisting an empty bottle in her hands and chewing her bottom lip. And he absolutely loathed himself, because he'd always hated wanting things he could never have. It was practically his life story.

"I dunno." She wouldn't look at him. "I guess…this whole time…I just never…" Her boneless fingers started swiping at her hair again. Then she threw her bottle in the corner. "I know how to figure people out. Except you."

He almost wanted to take that as a compliment. But he couldn't let himself mull it over. Then he'd go thinking things he shouldn't, like he was now.

God, he could still taste her, could still remember the texture of her mouth and the scent of her hair mixed with the smell of his blood…

She saw him moving in and he held his breath, waiting for her to stop him, or better yet, punch him.

Instead, she licked her lips again.

He sighed so hard, his lungs hurt, and whispered, "No deals this time, Freckles."

Her answer was to meet him halfway.

There it was again; that soft little moan he'd heard the first time, the one that'd helped him drop off to sleep these past few nights. Hearing it again from her simply made him burn. His hands tangled in her hair, his heart tightening as he realized his fingers were now free to touch her, all of her. Her own hands were making fast work of his shirt buttons, yet there was nothing hurried about any of it. No one was being tortured, no one was dying, no one was being chased by giant polar bears…it was just them and their tactile senses. He felt like he had all the time in the world to kiss her as deep and slow and wet as he wanted to.

Her fingers slid across his skin and pushed his shirt to the sand. They started to travel down his shoulders when he felt her pause at the wound there, her fingertips skimming over the bandage.

She broke away and pressed her forehead against his, panting. "I'm sorry."

"Last time I checked, you weren't an Iraqi soldier." He was memorizing her lines and curves with his hands, not daring to open his eyes.

"He feels horrible--"

"I don't care. Now shut up." He ran his tongue over her bottom lip and nipped it with his teeth. He'd tasted vanilla and he wanted it again; he used that as an excuse to framed her soft little face with his hands and tilt her mouth for just the right access. Someone in the back of his brain worried about the calluses on his palms scratching her cheeks, but he'd deal with him later.

Her hands traced small patterns across his abs, making him murmur something, because he never moaned. Ever.

Then, just like that, she cupped him through his jeans.

He moaned. _"Shit."_

She looked up at him, and her eyes had a sleepy look to them. She smiled a smile that had him jerking against her hand before he even knew what was good for him, and then she traced a path with her tongue along his jaw line, stopping at his ear.

"I'll take that as a dare?" She did a damn good impression of a 1940s sexpot. Bette Davis, maybe, or whoever the hell that "it's gonna be a bumpy night" chick was…

All the blood in his brain had gone south for the winter, but he had enough fine motor skills to lean in and lick the spot where her neck met her shoulder. Then he sucked. Hard.

Her hand flexed as she gasped. Dammit, he _wouldn't_ moan again.

Instead, he pulled back to inspect his work. The spot turned a reddish purple, but all he saw was _Property of Sawyer_. Had he been sober, he wouldn't have been quite so proud of himself.

"Naw, I'll take a truth." He finally pried his hands free from her hair and slid them down her back, and he discovered her ass fit perfectly in his hands. Wild horses couldn't have kept him from groaning.

She whimpered, and it sounded so extremely feminine. Just like her, only not.

"F-fine." Her hand left its warm place at his crotch and moved north. He nearly whimpered.

With considerable force, she flattened her palms against his chest and shoved him to the sand, straddling his hips as he went down.

Oh, Lordy, his brain was spinning, but he felt so fucking good right then. The best.

And it got even better as she neatly crossed her arms and stripped off her shirt. He held his breath, wondering if she was the kind to leave her bra on because she was on the small side.

She was. He didn't care.

Strands of her hair fell across his chest as she leaned over him, bracing her hands against his shoulders. She scooted her ass back until it met its mark.

"When's your birthday?" Jesus, she was fucking _purring. _Purring and grinding that fabulous little ass of hers against his still-covered dick. Why the _fuck _was his jeans still on?

"I'm…um, I'm sorry…Freckles. Could you…ah, repeat that?" God, his voice sounded like he'd smoked ten cartons of Marlboros in an afternoon. The unfiltered kind. He hardly knew he was speaking English. But he did know his hands were cupping her through the modest cotton bra she always wore, and she fit perfectly there, too.

She sighed and arched into his hands. Her eyes had slipped shut and she was worrying her lower lip again with her teeth.

"I said…" She swayed toward him and nipped his chin. He could still smell vanilla on her breath. "…when's your birthday?" Her eyes were still closed.

Somehow his brain managed to process what she was saying, and the answer was on the very tip of his tongue. It was just sitting there, waiting patiently.

No. He couldn't. Not right now.

So instead of giving her what she wanted to hear, he pressed his hands against her back, pushing her forward so that he could nuzzle her breast with his nose. He sighed against her hard nipple.

"It's today." Then he circled his tongue around her and sucked her through the cotton.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as she moaned, her sighs becoming more broken. And he wanted so fucking badly to know how she'd call his name when she came.

"Kate!"

It came as if cued from off stage in the distance.

She froze.

"Kate!..."

Well, fuck. Guess God had a sense of humor after all.

He lowered his hands and swallowed. "Think you're being paged, Freckles."

Her eyes, which hadn't been open in eons, squeezed tight.

He swallowed again. "Well, you gonna get that, or what?" His chest was starting to hurt.

She sighed, her lips parted slightly—again, a hint of vanilla. "I need to, yeah…"

"Then do it. I ain't stoppin' ya." He slowly folded his hands behind his head, doing a really bad impression of someone not caring.

Finally, her eyes opened. They looked a little out of focus. "It's my turn, isn't it?"

Damn, that pain in his chest was getting worse. "Yeah."

"Dare." She sat up and simply stared at him, her hands resting flat on his stomach.

He wanted to put his palm against her chest and see if her heart was pounding.

"All right." Without even giving it much thought, he started to sit up, which meant that eventually she was in his lap, her legs curled around his waist. He clenched his jaw against the urge to grab onto her ass and thrust against that hot little spot against his crotch. He tried to concentrate only on bringing his mouth within a breath of hers and the feel of her pants against his lower lip.

His hands found their way back into her hair as his eyes slid shut. Against the corner of her mouth, where her lips met, he breathed, "I dare you to kiss the Doc the way you kiss me."

He heard her breath hitch. Good. She pulled back and looked long and hard into his eyes.

Had his brain not been spinning and his chest not been hurting, he would've dumped her on the sand and headed straight for the water.

But he could only manage to collapse on his back, his hand swiping at his face.

He wanted to think she'd sit there for a while and let Captain Jack call for her until he gave up. It was a nice thought, but in reality she carefully reached for her shirt in slow motion, then got to her feet like a newborn calf.

She turned and staggered out of his tent.

"Nice playin' with ya, Freckles." He rolled over on his side and sighed.

* * *

The last thing he heard before he passed out: 

"Kate, what…are you drunk?"

"None of your damn business."

Then silence.

For once, he fell asleep with a smile.

* * *

end. 

More notes: My summary quote is from none other than Humphrey Bogart. Didn't think I could say it better myself! Many plates of brownies go to driveshaft4ever for the beta work!


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